Winds of the East
by Tobi is a good boy
Summary: A young man, Kazûl, was a novice in the temple of the Blue Gods in the East. However, dark forces threaten not only his home, but the whole of Middle Earth. He is given a perilous mission to journey into an unfamiliar land to warn Middle Earth before it is too late. *On HIATUS* Please R&R.
1. A Strange Encounter

Winds of the East

I do not own Lord of the Rings, or any works of Tolkien.

Summary: A young man, Kazûl, was a novice in the temple of the Blue Gods in the East. However, dark forces threaten not only his home, but the whole of Middle Earth. He is given a perilous mission to journey into an unfamiliar land to warn Middle Earth before it is too late. AU.

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ONE: A STRANGE ENCOUNTER

Kazûl felt the sweat linger on his neck, breathing heavily from exertion. He drained a few drops from his water-skin, savouring the feeling of the cool dew upon his lips. The wind clipped at his robes, which were now stained the same red colour as the sand below his feet.

He stood upon the cliff edge that cut the land like a knife. Below, smoke and fire crackled from what had been his home.

He could not, he would not think about that _now_.

X

The temple of the Blue God existed in the midst of the green, pale flickering lake separate from the rest of Rhudavon. A single, narrow pathway led from temple to the Courtyard of the Gods, where all the other major and minor temples were located.

It was made of great overlapping green stones, like the scales of a fish. In the harsh sun, it constantly glimmered and shimmered, so much so that the temple itself looked like a fish swimming in water.

The Blue God's realm was water, and all that encompassed the workings required to maintain Rhudavon's water. Its' priests wore garments of blue, long robes with sashes of their sect: whether they were teachers, healers or builders. Rarer still were the robes of the Mages, with their sashes of pure white.

Kazûl had never seen a Mage, and he had been a Novice for nearly three years. All novices and priests were taught small Magiks, of course, like spells for lighting, spells of healing and spells of protection.

Kazûl wore robes of cream that were too short for his, tall thin frame. The blue sash tied haphazardly around waist signified that he was a Senior Novice. As a Senior Novice, it was his role to ring the bell before dawn to signal a new day.

The bell was located high within the temple, up several winding spiral staircases with no torches to light the way. Kazûl had become used to feeling his way upwards, until shafts of what Kazûl liked to call in his own mind 'dawn-light.' Up here, in the highest rafters was the Bell of Dawn, a large bronze shaped bell that had a deep echoing voice that could be heard throughout Rhudavon.

His fingers touched the familiar patterns on the wall; telling him that he was nought but one more flight to the top. Already shafts of greyish light were splayed across the wall.

He squinted; there was one of the servants with a brush in his hand, sweeping the wooden slats of the spiral staircase. Dust flew up into the air as the servant swept. The servant was bent over, his back curved and his fingers knarled.

Kazûl approached him, slowly, not wanting to frighten the old man.

"Are you alright?"

The servant suddenly looked up, and bowed, two hands flat on his thighs as was customary. His broom clattered onto the steps below.

Kazûl returned the bow as best as he could in the cramped stairwell. He picked up the broom and handed it gently to the old man.

"Are you going to the top?" he asked.

The servant only nodded, his long grey hair hiding his face.

"Then at least let me help you."

Once more the servant bowed towards Kazûl, but said nothing. Kazûl took the older man's arm and helped him, step by step up towards the rafters as the dawn-light turned brighter and brighter still. They came at last to top of the tower. Here, the bell awaited him to be rung.

"Here," Kazûl handed the servant his water-skin. "Why don't you rest a moment?" He gestured for the servant to sit.

The older man took a deep gulp from the water skin, propping himself against one of the thick walls.

Kazûl turned towards the bell, feeling the thrum of the Magik underneath his fingers and the cool touch of the metal. He pictured the image of the bell ringing within his mind, concentrating his will on that single purpose, and directed it through his fingers into the metal of the bell itself.

The bell glowed for a moment and swung, voicing a great sonorous ring that filled the entire tower.

Kazûl turned; looking downwards onto the Courtyard of the Gods, for their bells would begin to toll as well, a great cacophony of sound that would awaken the whole city. He leaned over the railing, feeling the fresh Western wind upon his face.

Their temple was always the first to ring, then temple of the Sun God, whose bell had a tinkling, joyful ring. Next would be the temple of Blood, whose God ruled over warfare and battles. After the Blood Temple, would be the Lidless God; so called for the ever watchful Eye of their God.

The last bell was always the temple of Death, whose voice cut through all the rest. Kazûl shivered as the last echoes of its' song faded away.

"I ought to be getting on-" he began, but stopped for there was none in the room but him.

Where the servant had sat, there was no one there. He scanned once more the room and the stairwell, but there was no sign of the servant.

Perhaps it was his imagination?

He ran quickly down the spiral staircase, two steps at a time, but there was no indication that the servant had ever been there.

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_Authors Note: Rhudavon is of my own creation, however it is based upon Tolkien's writings. It is located within the East, upon the Lake of Rhun and is a fictional city, perhaps the capital of a Eastern Empire. _

_Some of the Eastern Gods described above have their Western counterparts: _

_The Blue God-Ulmo, god of the sea, waters and river._

_The Blood God- Tulkas, god of war and hunting._

_The Lidless God-Sauron, the Dark Lord._

_ Thank you and please R&amp;R,_

**TOBI**


	2. A Novice's Choice

Winds of the East

Tobi is a good boy

TWO: A NOVICE'S CHOICE

"Senior Novice Kazûl," came the harsh tones of the Head Abbot, wearing turquoise silk robes and silver sash.

Kazûl came to a harsh stop, forcing himself to turn to face the Head Abbot. The Head Abbot was an older man, with a thick white beard and black eyebrows the colour of soot. Around the Head Abbot's neck was flashes of silver jewellery and each finger had a different ring upon it.

The Abbot's eyes were narrowed in distaste at Kazûl's own simple attire and worn, sensible boots. It had become recent fashion throughout Rhudavon to display one's wealth through excessive jewellery or expensive clothes. Other novices had taken to this fashion, displaying family heirlooms or wearing exquisitely tailored robes. Kazûl had neither the money nor any family to provide him with such things. The only thing he had from his family was his father's pale skin and green eyes. The things that marked him out as a foreigner, as _c, _ a Westerner.

Hastily, Kazûl bowed haphazardly, his hands flat upon his thighs. "Head Abbot, "he replied once he had regained his breath.

The Head Abbot indicated to the other men standing beside him. Out of the two, Kazûl only recognised the High Priestess of the Dead. She wore robes of pure black, a sheer veil covering her face.

The other was a tanned, bald man dressed in a leather vest with drawing upon his skin. Around the man's neck was the symbol of the Lidless God. He showed obvious distaste towards Kazûl as the man's snake like eyes flickered over his body.

"Welcome, High Priestess and Brother," Kazûl said with another low bow towards them.

"They have come for the Novice's Vocation Ceremony," the Head Abbot said with a pointed look towards him.

In the mystery surrounding the disappearing servant, Kazûl had forgotten that today was the Novice's Vocation Ceremony, whereby all the Novices from each temple choose their vocation. He swallowed, suddenly nervous.

He, unlike the other novices, had not found a discipline that he wanted to study for the rest of his life. Indeed, it would be unlikely any of the Masters would want to take him on, as he was the _Dwyrain. _

In fact, as a result of his heritage, he had to study for an extra two years as a novice. The only reason, as many claimed, that Kazûl managed to become the Senior Novice was out of tradition that dictated that the eldest novice become the Senior Novice. He had worked hard to prove that he was worthy of the position and the younger novices had given him a begrudging respect for it.

"I shall escort them to the guests' wing so that they can prepare for the Ceremony tonight, Head Abbott," Kazûl said smoothly, "If you would like to come with me."

He led them through the lower eaves of the temple, towards the guest quarters. Long sheer curtains hung from the arches, to provide some shade from the fierce heat of the day. Kazûl walked quickly, feeling uneasy about the upcoming ceremony. The guest followed him in silence.

Kazûl showed Lidless God's priest the first set of guest rooms. "I hope these are to your liking, Brother. Our rooms here at the temple are simple and modest, but they are furnished for all your needs you may require."

The Brother's eyes barely flickered and he chewed his teeth irritatingly. "Why thank you, _Dwyrain."_

Kazûl bunched his fists together and forced himself to bow. He replied as blandly as possible with the traditional phrase.

" It is my honour, Brother."

From then on, he and High Priestess walked solemnly down the hallway, her black veil covering her face.

Once they came to second set of guest rooms, the High Priestess grasped his wrist with a cool hand. "Be wary, Kazûl, she murmured in a soft voice so no one else could hear.

Before he could question her, she had disappeared.

_What had she meant? Be wary?_

He turned on his heel, pondering her words and his up-coming choice.


	3. Ceremony of Novices

Winds of the East

Tobi is a good boy

I do not own LOTR

* * *

THREE: CEREMONY OF NOVICES

Kazûl and the rest of the novices from each of the temples were gathered in the great Sect. Their numbers filled the Sect up to the rafters, each a section of rippling colours. He sat amongst the robes of cream and white, fiddling with the blue sash around his robe nervously.

Candles burned in the braziers, causing the stone flicker green and blue, as if they were underwater. At the centre of the Sect was the altar which appeared to made of translucent glass. Sat in a semi-circle around the altar were the Head Abbot, the High Priestess and the Brother. Beside them were the heads of each discipline, the Masters, arrayed in their different robes.

There was no sign of the fabled Mages, but Kazûl doubted that they would attend a ceremony such as this.

The Head Abbot held up a hand, and immediately a hush overcame the Sect. All the novices, regardless of temple leaned forward to listen.

"It is time for the Novices' Vocation Ceremony. Let us begin."

From beside the Head Abbot stood the Master of the Healers, dressed in a simple dark blue robe and green sash. He unrolled a great scroll and began listing off names. There was rustling as those named came forward to the altar, but otherwise the Sect remained hushed.

Kazûl listened closely, but knew his name was not going to be called. He had never had the aptitude for Healing. Kazûl clapped politely along with the rest as each novice was named. Once the Master was finished he bowed and led those whom he had named to the Healers' rows.

Next, came the Master of the Warriors, dressed in a robe so blue it appeared to be black, and a black sash. Kazûl had no wish to be a warrior; he had neither the vigour for bloodshed nor the willingness to kill others unless done so in defence.

As he expected, most of those novices called to be warriors were athletic, burly boys. A few females were called, but those were from the temple of the Dead and were grim as their Head Priestess with black veils covering their faces. As before, the Master of Warriors led the new apprentices to the Warrior's rows.

After the Warriors, came the Master of the Builders. She wore a short blue vest, exposing her burly arms and tanned skin with a brown sash tied around her waist. Her hair was grey and worn short. Kazûl sat forward. There was a chance she would name him. In her own gruff way, the Master read out the names upon her list. But Kazûl's name never came.

The ranks of novices were thinning, there were only about fifty or so left. Kazûl was sitting in a row, by himself, a singular white robe. His palms were slick with sweat.

_Surely the Master of the Teachers would call his name? _

The Master of Teachers, unlike the others, wore a robe of brown with a sash of blue tied around her waist. Her hair was long and tied into a braid. Unlike the rest, she did not have a list of novices. Instead, she called each by name from memory. Once she had finished, Kazûl realised he was the only novice left.

_Why did none of the Masters pick him?_

The Head Abbot once more raised a hand. "As the Mages are not here to take any novices, this concludes the ceremony."

The Head Abbot bowed towards them, two palms on his thighs and pronounced the traditional greeting: May the Blue God bless and guide you, the Lidless God watch you, the Blood God protect you and the Death be merciful."

Kazûl dumbly stood and bowed in return, about to reply with the traditional response when the Head Abbot suddenly collapsed, his silver stash stained red.

The Sect erupted into screams as it was plunged into a unnatural darkness.

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Tobi here! Thanks to all whom followed and reviewed! If you haven't reviewed, then please do!

THANKS,

TOBI


	4. Illusions in the Dark

Winds of the East

Tobi is a good boy

I do not own LOTR

FOUR: Illusions in the Dark

Unnatural darkness gripped the Sept.

Screams and shouts erupted, the sounds of hissing spells hitting each other. One nearly grazed Kazûl, burning his robe slightly. Brief globes of light created a soft gloom within the Sept. Kazûl reached for a light spell, managing to create a small glowing light with his Magik.

The Sept was in chaos.

Novices and Masters fought alike against a sudden influx orcs. They were large, brown-green coloured creatures with hideous features and rough carven blades.

Kazûl realised that they must of have been within the Sept the entire time, hidden under a camouflaging spell. He shivered briefly before turning to the task at hand.

_It must have been very powerful Magik to shroud an entire army of them_.

At the very centre, the High Priestess fought against the Brother of the Lidless God. A great cackling energy of Magik surrounded the Brother. The Head Abbot lay upon the floor, his blood dying the green tiles crimson.

_The Brother must have cast the camouflaging spell._

Kazûl prepared a shield of Magik and thrust forward towards the altar. Orcs tried to hit his shield with their swords, but it held fast. The other novices and Masters seemed to understand his intention and began targeting the orcs coming near him with either blades or spells.

The grim black-clad female warriors fought the fiercest, their sharp blades cutting deep wounds into the orcs that attacked them. Orcs fell before him, their flesh burnt and dead.

The Brother saw him first as Kazûl neared the altar.

"Dwyrain! You think you can attack me?" The Brother yelled, and thrust a fire spell towards Kazûl.

Kazûl's shield held despite the attack. Reaching for his Magik, he sought out the strongest binding spell he knew. He spoke the words of binding in his mind, drawing them into being and cast them onto the Brother. For a moment, his whole entire vision glowed bright with the strength of his casting.

Once the glare faded, Kazûl saw that all he had created was a great scorch mark within the stone floor. His energy was draining; Kazûl knew that he did not enough left another spell such as that. He fell upon his knees, weak.

The Brother simply laughed, gathering more Magik around him.

"He is beyond you, Kazûl!" yelled the High Priestess, flinging a spell towards the Brother. It did nothing.

"Yes, don't you see? He has given me all the power I have wanted! He could give to you too!" He outstretched his hand towards both Kazûl and the High Priestess.

In response the High Priestess flung another spell towards the Brother.

In his strange, weak state, Kazûl thought he saw the servant he had met earlier that morning behind the Brother. He still held a broom within his hands.

"Go away!" yelled Kazûl towards the servant.

The old man seemed to ignore him, instead continued to walk towards the Brother. Surprisingly agile for an old man, he managed to hit the sphere of Magik surrounding the Brother with his broom. It shattered on impact, leaving the Brother defenceless.

This was when Kazûl realised it was not a broom at all, but a Mage's staff. The old man, the servant, was a_ Mage_.

The old man pounded the altar with his staff, creating chains which bound the Brother in place.

"It is over, Servant of Sauron," he pronounced.

"It isn't," murmured the Brother , throwing a knife made out of Magik towards the Mage. He died the instant he cast the spell, putting his entire life-force into the spell.

Kazûl reached for the last recesses of his own Magik , creating a spell meant to divert arrows towards the knife. The knife bounced momentarily, before hitting the old man squarely in the chest. The Mage fell upon the floor, blood staining his robes, gasping.

The High Priestess rushed towards the Mage. "Alatar!

"There will be more, High Priestess," he coughed. "We cannot..."

His eyes flickered towards Kazûl.

"Dwyrain," said he, kindly, "Come here."

Kazûl crawled towards the old man, Alatar, a deep exhaustion settling into his bones.

"Take this," Alatar handed Kazûl his oak staff.

"I cannot," Kazûl protested. The old man forced his staff into Kazûl's hands.

"You must go. You must warn the others, the White Council of this. Sauron-" The old man coughed once more, red blood staining his white beard.

"But I do not know-"

The old man touched the staff, "The staff will guide you, my boy. You must go!"

"I cannot!" Kazûl protested once more.

The High Priestess turned towards him, her voice suddenly changed, as if coming from beyond. He could not hear the words she spoke, but felt them within his bones. His body turned, not capable of disobeying and headed out of the Sept towards the unknown.


	5. Towards the West

Winds of the East

Tobi is a good boy

I do not own LOTR

Five: Towards the West

The words of the High Priestess forced his unwilling body onto the high ridge above the city, where the smoke and flames still choked the air. He drained a few drops from his water skin, leaning heavily on the staff that Alatar had given him.

_How could he do what the old man had asked him?_

Kazûl turned towards the rocky mountainous path, wresting himself away from the visage of his home burning. He felt that he was burning too, even though he was high above the flames that beset the city. Setting his pace determinedly, he turned onto the path that led towards the lands of his father, towards the West.

He could only assume that this 'White Council' Alatar had spoken of located in the West. Kazûl had attempted other directions, but each time the staff had almost physically turned him to face towards the West.

He had wrapped taken his blue sash and wrapped it around his face like a mask. If the orcs and the Lidless God had taken control of the city, it could be that they would search for him.

Above him, the Sun burned hotly, watching as Kazûl turned towards the West.

X

It had been almost six days since Kazûl had left _Rhudavon and had neither food nor water left. His skin had turned pink and was peeling, despite his makeshift mask. The mountain path seemed to stretch on forever. Dazed and dehydrated, he sat underneath the shade of one of the many outcropped rocks._

_He began to hear voices further down the path, below the outcrop of rocks._

Kazûl turned, glancing below him.

There was a large covered caravan, and camels, a couple of horses and a fire with roasting meat. With this many caravans and camels, the owner must have been a very rich merchant indeed!Two burly guards with dark skin the like Kazûl had never seen, even in Rhudavon, stood beside the meat, drinking .The scent of the roasting made Kazûl's stomach pang in hunger.

_Perhaps if he offered his services as a mage, in return, they could give him some supplies and shelter._

He glanced once more warily down at the caravan.

Suddenly the guards laughed as another man approached them, dragging a woman wearing a rough cotton dress behind him.

"Caught her tryin' to escape again!" the man announced as he came towards the other guards.

Suddenly it dawned upon Kazûl that this was no merchant caravan at all.

They were slavers.

"I think that's the third time now," murmured one of the guards.

"Think we ought to cut off her hand?" asked his mate beside him.

"No, the Master wants the women unspoiled," cackled the woman's captor, "Doesn't mean we can't punish her in other ways. She's such a pretty thing anyway."

Horrified, Kazûl watched as the woman's captor forced her to kneel before him.

He could watch no more.

Unsteadily Kazûl stood, judging the distance between his position and their below him, and jumped. He ran towards the group of men, yelling in his most imperious voice, "Stop!"

The guards looked about, drawing their swords.

"You and what army?" chuckled one of the guards.

Kazûl tightened his grip onto the staff and swung it towards the woman's captor, clipping him soundly on the head. The woman's captor sunk, unconscious.

"Anyone else want to have a go?" he growled dangerously.

Once more, the guards before him laughed, and before he could swing the staff again or draw upon his Magik, everything turned dark.


	6. Rude Awakenings

Tobi is a good boy

I do not own LOTR, I own Kazûl

Six: Rude Awakenings

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When Kazûl awoke, his head hurt immensely and his wrists burned from rope tied tightly around them. He was tied, alongside the woman, to a pole.

"Idiot," the woman whispered lowly to him. "What good do you think you could have done?"

Kazûl blearily turned towards her, "Rescued you. You're a slave."

The dark skinned woman seemed to appraise this, her dark eyes glinting. "Rescued me?" The corners of her mouth turned upwards in a semi-smile. "You against twenty hardended warriors?"

Kazûl swallowed his throat dry and raspy. "I could have done it, I could have," he murmured.

"Sssh!" whispered the woman suddenly, going still and quiet. Kazûl followed suit, trying to still his unwilling body.

Walking towards them was one of the guards, his naked blade hanging from his belt for them to see. He bent down, untying the rope that held them to the pole. It was a long piece, almost like a dog's lead. That's when Kazûl realised what it was: it was a dog's lead, but adapted for humans. He grimaced in distaste.

"Come on, we've got a while to go to Mordor yet," said the guard, yanking on the rope. Immediately, the woman stood up, whilst Kazûl sat in disbelief.

"Mordor?" he whispered. That was the opposite direction of where he wanted to go. Indeed, he suddenly realised that he was without Alatar's staff.

"Where's my staff? I need it walk," Kazûl lied.

The guard smiled horribly, revealing sharp yellow teeth. "You won't be needing it now, Sunny-Jim. Anyway, all the slaves' belongings are sold to the Master." Once more he sharply pulled on the dog's lead, causing Kazûl to sprawl across the harsh landscape, rough sand rubbing his body raw.

"Get up!" hissed the woman, "Otherwise we'll both be whipped."

Kazûl looked at her in horror and slowly stood, his whole body aching. There was no way he would be able to reach his Magik, not in this state. All his energy stores seemed to be depleted, perhaps by sheer exhaustion.

"We'll soon teach you the meaning of obedience, Sunny-Jim," the guard menacingly gripped the hilt of his sword with a hand.

Kazûl nervously swallowed and obeyed, following the guard alongside the woman. The guard was walking them with the majority of the caravans of supplies, food and other items which were of value. The caravans themselves were a hodgepodge of simple merchant caravans to expensive ones covered with silk roofs and slaves fanning the occupants with great palm leaves. Each caravan was guarded by soldiers.

Somehow, he would have to escape, find his staff and leave once more to the West.

Kazûl shook himself.

There was also another thing. He could not leave these people to be taken to Mordor against their will. The Blue God was known for his dislike of slavery and cruelty and was often said to strike down ships in the far-off oceans which propagated this.

He looked at the woman beside him; her hands also cuffed like his in rope and became resolute in this decision.

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AN: Thank you all! I shall try to get some more chapters up soon! TOBI XX


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